Growing up, I was never quite a ladies' man. In high school, while everyone else was out screwing their brains out, I was at home doing homework. It wasn't that I wasn't sexually active, I jacked off just about every day, it was just that my family wasn't financially well off. So, I had to work my ass off all throughout school so to ensure I would get into a decent college with some sort of funding or loans. And, after four rigorous years in high school, I was in.
Thing is, after years of solitude and overzealous study, I lacked social skills. Most of my first year at college were spent in my dorm room, catching the occasional movie here and there. I made a few friends, but they were like me, and didn't enjoy going out to parties and such. However, the beginning of my sophomore year, when I had just turned 18, I had saved up enough money from summer jobs to get my own place. Well, by "my own place" I mean a room in a rental house just off campus. You'd think living in a house with other people would help my social interactions. Truth is, it just shut me out more. When not in class or at work, most of my time was spent in my room, souping up my computer for more and more porn.
But, no porn I could ever download could compare to my Physics teacher. Ms. Hughes was a goddess. I had her in my freshman year and absolutely fell in love. She looked like a mature Christina Ricci, and wore the stereotypical teacher glasses. About thirty-five years old, she had brains and beauty. And, as interesting as the corpuscular theory is, I could only stare at her tits. I was simply in awe, she was a ripe 34 C (if I had to guess, and I did, often) which panned down to a Victorian thin waist. And nothing, I mean nothing, made me happier than when she turned around and pulled down the projection screen. When she reached up for that string and her ass floated just above the desk, I was in heaven.
The best part was we became friends, in a manner of speaking. She would always say "hi" to me if we ran across each other on campus, and we even went out for coffee once or twice. We discussed physics and how classes were going, but in my mind I was in another world. I had to try harder than anything I've ever done not to stare at her breasts and they rose out of her button down suit. Perhaps it was my lack of female teachers growing up (my school district only hired male teachers, something I'm sure will end soon), but her suit-and tie look drove me wild like there was no tomorrow. With all the staring I was doing, I was sure I'd get caught. Well that's where the trouble came in.
And, this is more or less where my story begins. I used to bike back-and-forth from my place to work and school. Coming home from work on night, around 8:00 p.m., I took the long way. One of my co-worker's had given me some rum after the shift was over ( I've drank once, maybe twice before this time) and I was no Lance Armstrong. As I biked down the road, I heard someone call out my name.
"Christian!" a woman's voice yelled.
As I turned to look who was calling, my equilibrium was thrown off base and I crashed. I had hit a pothole in the road and fell off right into a puddle. I looked in the direction of the voice, but there was nothing. I wiped the dirty water from my face and pulled my bike to the curb. As I sat catching my breath and checking my bike for damage, I heard the voice again. "Christian, of my god, I'm sorry."
When I looked up, it was like seeing an angel. The dark skies framed her pale white skin, and her face shone.
"Chris. Oh man, I'm sorry. I just saw you riding your bike, and I live over there, and I wanted to say 'hi' and..."
Her words stammered together. She apologized and explained that she had seen me from her window, yelling out to catch my attention. She helped me up and brushed me off. As I turned back to her after picking up my bike she looked at me with a slight sigh.
"Look at you! You're all dirty and wet. And...look, your ear has a cut. Come in and clean up. You can leave your bike over there, you're a mess."
I told her I was ok, but she eventually convinced me to come in. Her house was more of a loft, very similar to other campus housing in the area. She took my jacket off and walked into another room. Coming back, she lead me into the bathroom. She took a washcloth and cleaned off my face, applying cut medication the nick on my ear. When she was all done, she stepped back and looked at me.
"That didn't help much at all. Your clothes are soaked, Chris. Let me wash them."
I looked at her, nodding my head in a "no" fashion and telling her it was ok. She patted me lightly on the chest and walked off into her bedroom. When she came back, she had some old sweat pants and a t-shirt. She sat them on the sink and told me to hop into the shower.
"I'll leave these here. Undress and when you're done, slide the clothes outside of the bathroom door. I'll come and get them as soon as I hear the water running. I'll put them in the washer and when you're done you can put these on until your clothes are dry."
She patted the clothes on the sink, and although I protested, she kept telling me she felt bad for what happened. Before I was able to argue any further, she walked out and closed the door behind her.
I began looking around the small bathroom. It looked just like every other rental house bathroom, un-renovated since the 60's, the only new things were rugs and a shower curtain, one of those semi-clear jobs that could only been seen through if you were close-up, anything else was just a blur. Her shelves were cluttered with beauty products, unnecessary I though.. I undressed and adjusted the water in the shower. I cracked the door slightly and peered out, Ms. Hughes was nowhere in sight. I took my damp clothes and swung them through the crack in the door. I turned around, shutting the door, noticing that there was no lock. I thought nothing of it and stepped into the shower.
Once inside, the warm water hit my skin, and I admit, it felt good. Ms. Hughes was right. At first I stood underneath the water, cleansing myself off, but my mind soon wandered. I noticed the massaging showerhead and my mind went wild with ideas of shower time masturbation stories I had read on the internet. Slowly, my hand drifted to my crotch, and I began pumping. Out of habit, I reached over for shampoo to jerk off with.
When I popped the cap, my senses were overcome with pleasure; the smell was so familiar to me. Ms. Hughes always had a certain smell to her, and I had become accustomed, almost conditioned, to it. The smell of lilac was fueling my eroticism and I began pumping harder. Within seconds, I was on the verge of climax. I looked over through the curtain, and saw the outline of Ms. Hughes body. It was blurry, but unmistakable. With that, I blew. Gobs of sperm shot up into the air and my eyes sealed tight.
As my jizm ran down the drain with the water, I collected myself and looked back through the curtain. Nothing. I opened it up and peered out. Again, nothing. I began to think I imagined the whole thing. I cleaned up, waited for my erection to soften down, and stepped out of the shower. I toweled off and grabbed the clothes Ms. Hughes left for me.
As I walked towards the door, toweling off my hair, my mind ran wild again. I envisioned Ms. Hughes sitting in one of her chairs in a sexy nightgown, sipping a glass of wine. As I delved deeper into my fantasy, I became aroused again.
I stepped out into the living room and saw my fantasy was partly true. Sitting in her big chair, Ms. Hughes was sipping a glass of wine. She wasn't wearing a nightgown though. Instead, she was in plaid pajamas, sitting cross-legged in her chair. She looked up at me through her glasses and smiled.
"There, feel better?"
I agreed, toweling off the rest of my face and head.
